


you've got me catching on like a wildfire

by trishapocalypse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, and just idk some of it is cute and fluffy and funny idk bro, artist!zayn, photographer!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishapocalypse/pseuds/trishapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a photography student and is putting together a portfolio on body art, and he wants to ask Zayn to model for him. </p><p>(Or: the one where Harry kind of stalks Zayn, but it turns out okay, and then there's blowjobs. Everyone wins.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you've got me catching on like a wildfire

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiiiii it's been a while. :) I missed you guys. So, this was just supposed to be a short little thing, but it turned into a not-so-short little thing. A little bit longer than I like my little fics to be but, whatever. I even made a [tumblr post](http://trishanthemum.tumblr.com/post/59456108874) of the pictures that inspired this story. (Also, I think the title is a John Mayer song? I don't know, I hate John Mayer. Soz.) Anyway! This was inspired by Harry with a camera and...my love of Zarry. As usual: hastily beta'd, all mistakes are mine, this never happened, and I love you all.
> 
> tumblr: @trishanthemum :)

“I just don’t think that stalking this lad is the best way to go ‘bout photographing him.”

Harry frowned. “Why not?”

Niall rolled his eyes. “You do realize that stalking is a crime?”

“It depends on how you define stalking, yeah?” Harry asked slowly. “He’s in my class, so it’s not really—“ he cut himself off and sighed.

Niall sighed and set his pint down, reaching across the table to grab Harry’s hands. He set his expensive Canon camera aside, ignoring Harry’s pout, and he held onto his hands tightly. “Harry, mate, just _ask_ him.”

“You don’t just _ask_ someone to model for you, Niall,” Harry explained.

“Then what _do_ you do?”

Harry shrugged. “M’gonna bollock this whole assignment up. Then m’gonna fail my course, and fail at life, and never get a job. And my mum was right, Ni, being a photographer is a stupid dream— _ow!_ ” he exclaimed, cutting off his own tangent when he felt Niall slap him across the face.

Niall laughed loudly. “Shoulda seen your face after that, mate, sorry. Couldn’t help myself.” 

Harry pouted and reached up to rub at his cheek. “You didn’t have to slap me.”

Niall shrugged one shoulder and took a drink of his pint. “It was more fun.”

“I can’t just go up to someone I don’t know and ask to create a portfolio of them,” Harry told him.

“Yeah, ya can,” Niall told him. “Use that Styles charm. You can do anything. Ask him after class, yeah?”

Harry groaned, rolling his eyes. 

“Want me to do it for ya?”

“No!” Harry exclaimed, shaking his head. “Absolutely not.”

“I think my mate Liam knows him. His name’s Zayn, yeah?”

Harry felt himself flush and he looked down at his hands, busying them by picking up his camera again to scroll through the pictures. He didn’t have many on there since he had just replaced his memory card, but there were enough. He had gotten the assignment for his final portfolio a week before, leaving him with three weeks to create a theme and a series of between twenty and thirty pictures. And it wasn’t that Harry didn’t have ideas, he _did,_ and he already decided to use the theme of body art, inspired by his own tattoos and those of others. And, okay, Zayn was… Well, he couldn’t even describe Zayn, because he’d never even talked to them. They’d had one class together, where they never spoke, but Harry noticed Zayn. And it wasn’t because of the fact that he was ridiculously good looking; it was the tattoos that peeked out from the collar and the cuffs of his leather jacket, it was the way he looked leaning against the brick wall of the art building, cigarette dangling between his lips, it was—

“Harry, focus,” Niall said, interrupting his train of thought by snapping his fingers in front of his face. 

Harry shook his head, setting his camera back down. “Sorry.”

“So his name is Zayn?”

He sighed and shrugged, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. “I guess.”

Niall grinned. “You _guess_?”

“Can we not do this now?” Harry asked. 

“How about I introduce you to Liam and you go from there?”

Harry sighed because Niall was great, but Niall was pushy, and he also didn’t let anything go. So Harry agreed. Because he couldn’t say no, not to Niall and his stupid puppy dog eyes, and because agreeing to meet Liam was loads easier than Zayn because. Well, Harry might’ve been _charming,_ as Niall put it, but he was also a nervous and clumsy mess around…well, most everyone. So—Liam. 

 

+

 

“Niall told me you want Zayn’s schedule?”

Harry’s eyes widened and he shook his head, his curls bouncing across his forehead. “What? No, _no._ God, what did Niall tell you?”

Liam laughed softly, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “M’just messing with you. Niall suggested that line.”

“Of course he did,” he muttered. 

“Alright. You tell me what you need,” Liam suggested, leading Harry over to a bench and sitting down.

Harry adjusted the strap his camera bag over his shoulder and sat down next to Liam. “I know I sound crazy,” Harry told him. “But he’s just—He’s so—“

“Yeah,” Liam interrupted with a nod. “I get it.”

“Do you?” he asked with a frown.

“He’s Zayn. He’s very… _Zayn._ You’re not the first person to befriend me to get to him,” Liam said with a self-deprecating grin.

“No, no, that’s not—“

“I’m takin’ the piss, Harry,” Liam told him. “Well, not about people befriending me to get to him, but—about you. I know that’s not what you’re doing.”

Harry frowned. “People would— But you’re so nice.”

Liam laughed softly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. “Yeah, but. People get captivated by Zayn easily, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agreed softly because he was one of them. He wasn’t proud of it, and he couldn’t explain it, but yeah—that was the easiest way to say it. 

“Niall mentioned a photography assignment?”

Harry nodded quickly. “Yeah, um. We have to do, like, a theme for our portfolio. It’s our final one, yeah?”

“Right. Where does Zayn come in?”

Harry sighed, running his hands over his curls again. “We get to pick our own subject matter. I chose the theme of body art. I really like tattoos,” he told him with a grin.

“Couldn’t tell,” Liam teased, nudging their shoulders together.

Harry smiled—Liam was easy, comfortable, one of those people that instantly made one feel like a friend, like someone they had known for years. It was nice. And even if he was asking a very bizarre favor, he had a feeling Liam would be chill about it. (Unlike Niall who would take the piss every chance he got for the rest of Harry’s life. Harry was sure about that, very sure.) “Well, Zayn is in my art history class.”

“Right.”

“Sits in the back, very quiet, but smart, yeah?”

“Right,” Liam agreed. 

Harry sighed. “So I think he’s interesting?”

“Is that a question?”

Harry shrugged. “No, it’s. I mean, I think he’s interesting,” he said, rephrasing so it sounded less like a question and more like a statement. But, hell, it was awkward because he was sitting with Zayn’s best friend, trying to say without actually _saying_ that he kind of, maybe, definitely thought Zayn was very attractive and he wanted to photograph him for purely educational purposes. Right—educational purposes; that sounded like a good excuse. “I think he would be an interesting subject for my portfolio. It’s purely for educational purposes,” he added.

Liam grinned. “Educational purposes? Alright. I mean, I can’t give you his schedule. He’s my best mate; I’d feel a little guilty doing that without him knowing, yeah?”

“No, no, I know,” Harry told him. “I…don’t know what I was expecting, actually. You don’t have to help me. It’s—I can do it on my own, yeah? I mean, we have class together and—“

“Harry—“

“So don’t feel obligated, yeah?” Harry said, shaking his head. “Really. I don’t know what Niall was thinking—“

“Harry—“

“I’m just gonna go, actually,” Harry said, standing up and grabbing his camera bag. He readjusted his satchel across his chest and held his camera protectively against his side. “I didn’t mean to put you in a bad position—“

“Harry, shut up,” Liam interrupted with a laugh. He reached for Harry’s arm and tugged him back towards the bench. “I can tell you that on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday he’s in the art studio between eight and ten at night. It’s empty and his professor lets him use it however he wants. He usually works on his own pieces. Sometimes other students join him, but not often.”

Harry sucked his lower lip into the mouth, chewing on the skin until it was red and swollen, and he shifted from foot to foot. 

“You listening?”

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. “I—Thank you.”

Liam grinned. “I won’t tell him, if that’s what you’re worried about. As long as you don’t, like, stalk him or ask him to pose nude or—“

“I would never!” Harry interrupted, flushing deeply. Though—wow, okay, now he was _thinking_ about that and, yeah, that could happen. No—No, it _couldn’t._

Liam laughed. 

“You’re takin’ the piss again, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Harry sighed.

“That’s all I’m gonna give you, though, yeah? Anything else you have to figure out on your own.”

“Thank you, Liam,” Harry said sincerely. 

Liam nodded. “I feel like as his best mate, I have to say that if you hurt him, I’ll kill you,” he told him. “So… Don’t hurt him.”

Harry frowned. “I—“

“Just… Don’t, yeah?”

Harry couldn’t hold back his frown but he nodded anyway. There wasn’t really anything else he could do.

 

+

 

Harry was nervous. He was also loitering outside the art studio, the strap of his satchel over his shoulder and his camera in hand. Zayn was inside already, as Harry suspected from Liam’s advice and not from smelling Zayn’s cologne from the doorway because Harry absolutely did _not_ know what his cologne smelled like at all. (Definitely not from walking past Zayn’s seat on the way to his own in art history or casually walking past him between classes or anything. Definitely _not._ )

But, well. He knew Zayn was attractive, anyone could tell, and he knew that Zayn was an _artist_ but it was different seeing someone in their element. Zayn was kneeling on the floor of the art studio, newspapers lying around him on the floor under his canvas. He had a paper mask covering his mouth and nose, thick rimmed glasses covering his eyes; the cuffs of his jean jacket were pushed up towards his elbow, revealing the ink on his right forearm. He was leaning over the canvas, a bottle of spray paint in hand, as he covered the material. Harry didn’t think twice before raising his camera and snapping a quick picture, thankful it was silent. 

Harry sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. There was absolutely no reason for him to be so nervous, not really. He just had to man up—that’s all. Holding his camera between his hands, he walked into the art studio, trying to ignore how loud the clicking sound of his boots against the tile of the floor. He didn’t make eye contact with Zayn, even though he could feel the lad practically staring holes into the back of his shirt, and he set his stuff down on the counter. He had a reason to be there, he really did, and he pulled his photography assignment out of his satchel along with the book he was going to use as his portfolio. He turned around to set them on one of the tables and he met Zayn’s eyes, smiling softly.

“Hi.”

Zayn nodded towards him, holding the mask away from his face. 

“Is it…okay that I’m here? Is the studio reserved?” Harry asked.

“No,” Zayn said, shaking his head.

“I’m Harry,” he offered with a small smile and a wave. 

“Zayn. You’re in my art history course,” he told him, narrowing his eyes. 

“Yeah, thought I recognized you.” Harry opened up his portfolio and pulled out a few photographs he had already taken. He’d managed to convince Liam to let him take a couple of shots with the feature he had inked across his right forearm, and he even had a couple of Louis, one of Niall’s obnoxious friends that had overheard the assignment and immediately started pointing out his tattoos, insisting Harry photograph them as well. Harry wasn’t complaining, not really, because he would need as many photographs as possible to make his portfolio as strong as he could. He just was really lacking. And he didn’t want to use his own tattoos, though he had a picture of his moth anyway, not that he couldn’t get away with it, but because he was a photographer for a reason. He was talented, he was _good_ at it, and he _hated_ being in front of the camera. 

“You’re an artist?” Zayn asked, leaning over his canvas again. He held the mask back over his mouth as he finished spraying a couple of lines, finishing with the red before reaching for a different can and shaking it up. 

“Photographer,” he corrected.

Zayn shrugged. “That’s an artist. You change people’s perceptions of events, places, people—that’s art.”

Harry felt his cheeks flush slightly, and he cleared his throat, avoiding Zayn’s eyes because the lad was _intense_ in a way that Harry couldn’t explain. He focused on his portfolio, arranging the photographs in front of him until he could find some sort of pattern or flow that spoke to him. He could vaguely hear the sound of spray paint on canvas a few meters away from him; it stopped about twenty minutes later as Harry was still standing in the same spot, hip cocked to the side, fingers scratching the back of his neck, because nothing was coming to him. _Nothing._

“Feeling uninspired?”

Harry jumped, not expecting for Zayn to speak, and he definitely hadn’t been expecting for Zayn to appear by his side. He looked over at him, but Zayn wasn’t even looking at Harry, he was looking at the photographs on the table. “Yeah, guess I am,” he admitted.

Zayn set his mask down on the table and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He reached towards one of the photographs and picked it up, inspecting it slowly. “This is Liam, yeah? You know Liam?”

“He’s mates with Niall,” Harry said with a shrug.

“Your project is about tattoos?”

“Not explicitly,” he said. “We get to choose our own theme and subject matter. I chose body art.”

“Good choice,” Zayn said with a small grin. “Because of your own tattoos?” he asked, poking Harry’s bicep where his boat tattoo was.

Harry laughed softly. “Not just that,” he said with another shrug. “I just really like tattoos. I thought it would be an interesting concept because the perception regarding tattooed people is always a negative, yeah? People assume the wrong things; they expect the worse, but. Tattoos don’t change who a person is on the inside. I guess that’s what I’m trying to convey,” he explained slowly.

Zayn nodded, pursing his lips, impressed or—something. He set the photograph of Liam back down, looking at the others. “Who’s this?” he asked, pointing to a photograph of a tic-tac-toe board, complete with red x’s.

“Niall’s friend Louis,” he said. “He found out about the assignment and didn’t really give me a choice. But at least I have some color in here. I didn’t want it to be completely black and white. S’hard to ask people you don’t know to model for a portfolio.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Zayn said with another nod. “This one?” he asked, pointing towards the photograph of Harry’s moth. 

Harry laughed, scratching at his neck awkwardly. “Oh, um, that’s mine, actually,” he said, feeling himself flush _yet again,_ and fuck, would that ever not happen? Just once, that’d be lovely. 

“Yeah?”

He nodded.

Zayn inspected the picture a little more closely, turning towards Harry. His eyes fell to Harry’s stomach, and he instantly felt self-conscious. It felt as if Zayn was trying to stare a hole through Harry’s thin white shirt.

Harry instinctively crossed his arms across his stomach, tugging the folds of his blue button-up over his chest. 

Zayn laughed. “Wouldn’t expect that to be hidin’ under there,” he commented. “Impressive.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked.

Zayn grinned and stepped back from the table, gathering his supplies. He shoved a few of the spray paint cans into his bag, zipping it up and slinging the strap over his shoulder. He picked up his canvas and carried it towards the wall, setting it flat against the floor so the paint would dry, but he made sure that it was out of everyone’s way. He picked up the newspaper and crumbled it up, tossing it into the rubbish bin. “Lock up before you go, yeah?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

“See you in art history, Harry,” Zayn said, sending him a quick wink before stepping out of the room. 

Harry cursed under his breath as Zayn disappeared from his line of sight. And, fuck, what the hell even happened? Zayn was— Well, he wasn’t just some figment in Harry’s mind, he was real and lovely and nothing like what Harry had expected. But, to be fair, he didn’t really allow himself to expect much. And he also didn’t expect to remain as calm and collected as he had been—or how he _hoped_ he had been. He gathered up his photographs, sliding them into the folder in front of the portfolio, and he put it back in his back. Well, the first phase of his kind-of plan was working. He had at least broken the ice… Now it was just a matter of finding the confidence to ask Zayn to help him out with his project…

 

+

 

Harry wasn’t stalking Zayn. He absolutely _was not._ It was mainly coincidence, truly, that they happened to be in the same place at the same time… Quite frequently… Okay, it wasn’t exactly _stalking,_ but Harry might’ve been observing him. Yes—observation, good word choice. 

He didn’t know Zayn’s schedule, not exactly, but he knew where he liked to paint outside the studio, and that he liked to sketch in the courtyard. He knew that he often skipped lunch in favor of a strong coffee and an extra thirty minutes with his sketchpad before classes. 

Not that Harry knew that, except…he did. And, okay, he wasn’t proud. And he had Niall taking the piss every thirty minutes, and he also had Liam sending him worried eyes and reminding him in very polite, non-confrontational ways to not hurt Zayn, even though Harry was positive he wasn’t sure what Liam meant. Hurt Zayn? All he wanted was some photographs. And if there happened to be a casual snogging session, then so be it, Harry wouldn’t protest that.

But—not the point. 

It didn’t help that he had already printed a few photographs that he had taken of Zayn, including the one that he took the first day in the studio, when the sunlight was streaming through the window and— No, he wasn’t going to say that Zayn looked _angelic_ because that was cliché and true and—but it didn’t matter. Harry wasn’t that sentimental (he was, but, that wasn’t the point). And he wasn’t saving the photograph of anything, not at all. But he did make sure to not keep any of the photographs near his portfolio because, well, he wasn’t an idiot.

“Still feeling uninspired?”

Harry glanced up when Zayn walked into the art studio; he had lost all track of time just staring at the photographs in front of him. “What time is it?”

“Half eight,” Zayn said, tossing his bag onto the floor and shrugging off his leather jacket and resting it on the table. 

“Wow,” Harry said with a sigh, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “I’ve literally been staring at these for an hour.”

“When’s your assignment due?”

“Two and a half weeks, at end of term.”

“Did you find other people to photograph?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “Not yet. M’not too good at striking up conversation with people I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Zayn told him with a grin. He joined Harry behind the counter and shifted the placement of a few photos, arranging them to where the black and white photographs slowly faded into color. “Are you able to alter the coloring on this one?” he asked, pointing towards the photograph of Louis’ tic-tac-toe tattoo. “Make it black and white but keep the red vibrant? It might make the transition to colored pieces a bit more smooth.”

“I can mess around in Photoshop with it,” Harry said. “Won’t really matter if I can’t find others.”

“You will, though,” Zayn said with a nod.

Harry smiled. “Thanks.”

Zayn patted him on the shoulder before he walked over to his canvas, dragging it back to the center of the room and placing newspaper underneath the edges. He pulled out a new mask, tying it behind his head, and he set out his cans of spray paint before kneeling over his canvas, getting to work on the piece he was trying to finish. 

Harry bit his lip as he watched Zayn work, his muscles straining in his forearm underneath the ink there. He reached for his camera bag, pulling out his Canon, and he walked over to where Zayn was working. He sat down across from him, a meter or so away, and he held his camera up, snapping a photograph of Zayn working.

Zayn froze and glanced up at him, golden eyes wide. He set the can aside and pulled the mask down. “What are you doing?”

Harry shrugged. “I like to take photographs.”

Zayn bit down on his lower lip, blinking, and Harry snapped another picture. Zayn shook his head. “Could that flash be any brighter?”

Harry looked down at his camera, thumbing through the settings. “Maybe? Though the lighting in here is pretty good,” he commented, glancing around the room. “The sunlight helps. It’d be better if we were outside but—“

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“It was rhetorical,” he told him.

“Oh,” Harry said. “I knew that.”

Zayn grinned, but it quickly faded when Harry took another picture. He squeezed his eyes shut, reaching up to rub his hand over his eyes. “Christ. Are you trying to blind me?”

Harry laughed and shook his head, reaching up to brushing his curls out of his face. “No, m’not. Promise.”

“Can you delete those?”

Harry frowned. “Why?”

Zayn shrugged. “Just…don’t like having my picture taken,” he told him.

“I can…” he trailed off, glancing down at the screen and scrolling through the pictures. “But they’re good,” he told him, holding up the camera for Zayn to see.

“I guess.”

“You just have that kind of face, yeah?” Harry offered.

Zayn huffed and shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“The face for a camera? Sorry if that’s—I know that’s weird. You’re just—You’re fit, yeah?” he stuttered, flushing _again,_ and he shook his head, hoping his curls were hiding the flush but he knew they weren’t. 

“Thanks,” Zayn said quietly. 

“Yeah.”

Zayn watched Harry for a minute, watching as he fiddled with his camera and refused to meet his eyes, and he smiled. He definitely hadn’t been expecting the boy to be so quiet, but he didn’t know why. He put his mask back on and leaned back over the canvas, getting back to work and doing his best to ignore the constant barrage of the shutter clicking, knowing Harry was taking photograph after photograph of him. He didn’t know what was so special about what he was doing, it was definitely just for fun, but Harry must’ve seen something and that—that was brilliant. 

Harry got a decent amount of photos, he did, and when he finally set the camera aside, Zayn looked up at him, eyebrows raised and a small smile on his face. “What?”

“Got enough pictures there?”

Harry grinned, revealing his dimple. “Think so, yeah.”

Zayn laughed.

“Want me to delete these too?” he teased.

Zayn sighed, running a hand through his quiff, brushing his hair flat against his forehead. He ignored Harry for a moment, standing up to dig through his bag until he found his beanie, and he pulled it on, covering up his hair. He sat back down, inspecting his canvas and he shrugged. “You can keep ‘em. As long as you promise not to show ‘em to anyone.”

“On one condition.”

Zayn’s eyebrows rose again. “We’re on conditions now?”

Harry grinned and nodded.

Zayn sucked in a deep breath because Harry had a _dimple._ And it was precious and darling and, yeah, Zayn would’ve probably agreed to kidnapping the Queen if it meant that he could see Harry’s dimple all the time. 

“Would you consider letting me take photographs of you?”

“You just did.”

“No, like—“ Harry hesitated. “For my project?”

“You want to take pictures of my tattoos?”

Harry nodded.

Zayn stood up and patted down his pockets, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. “I need—“ he motioned towards the door and walked out quickly, without another word.

Harry frowned, standing up and following him out the door, ignoring the fact that they were leaving their stuff behind. He was gonna have to trust that no one was going to take anything. All of it was replaceable, but still. He followed Zayn down the corridor and into the courtyard, where he watched him, light up a cigarette and take a long drag. He couldn’t help but raise his camera again and snap a photograph as Zayn blew out the smoke.

Zayn laughed bitterly and shook his head. “Ya just can’t stop, can ya?”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s—“ Zayn cut himself off and waved a hand in Harry’s direction. “Ignore me. M’bein’ a wanker and takin’ it out on you.”

“You really don’t like when someone takes a picture of you, do you?” Harry asked.

Zayn shook his head. “Not really.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged.

Harry stepped closer to him, holding the camera up so Zayn could look at the pictures he had taken. “You’re—I mean, you’re gorgeous, Zayn. I don’t—I don’t get it.”

Zayn scoffed. “M’gorgeous? You’re the one with the dimple that could drive a Saint to commit every sin imaginable. They’d probably create a few new ones, too.”

Harry flushed. “No, I don’t—I don’t.”

“Maybe we both have issues with how we see ourselves,” he muttered, taking another drag from his cigarette. 

“Yeah.”

“If I do this,” he started, pausing for another long drag. “If I do this, then you have to do something for me.”

“Name it,” Harry said quickly. It was probably foolish—no, it _was_ foolish to agree so quickly, especially when he didn’t know the terms. Hell, Zayn could’ve wanted a blowjob or—well, Harry wouldn’t deny him _that._ He’d probably do that even without the promise of help with his assignment. He should’ve thought it through, but he didn’t want to.

Zayn looked up at him from under his eyelashes. He lifted the cigarette to his lips again, taking another drag before tossing it to the ground and stubbing it out with the toe of his combat boot. He blew the smoke out slowly, watching as Harry’s eyes dilated, just a little bit, and he grinned. “I get to paint you.”

Harry frowned. “You want to paint me? Why?”

“Why do you want to photograph me?”

“Because my portfolio is on body art?” he offered.

Zayn smiled.

“So…?”

“So I paint pretty things.”

 

+

 

“Wanna go out for drinks tonight?” Niall asked Harry, watching as his mate fiddled around with his MacBook. 

Harry grunted in reply, rubbing at his eyes before staring back at the screen.

Niall frowned. “Was that a yes or a no?”

Harry looked over his shoulder at Niall, eyes wide. “Huh?”

“Do you want to go out for drinks?” Niall repeated.

“When?”

Niall rolled his eyes. “Tonight, ya wanker,” he declared, reaching out to slap Harry across the back of his head. 

“Heeeey,” Harry drew out with a frown and a pout, reaching up to rub at the back of his head. “Was that necessary?”

“You’re not paying attention.”

“M’working on my project,” he told him. 

“You’re editing a picture of one of Lou’s shitty tattoos.”

“For my project.”

Niall sighed. “Mate, we gotta go _out_! It’s Thursday night. Everyone goes out on Thursdays.”

“Once my project is done, I’ll go out, Ni. I just really wanna finish, yeah?” he promised. 

“Lou will be there. He was askin’ about you. Maybe you can get some and _then_ work on your project, yeah?” Niall suggested.

Harry frowned. “You want me to shag Louis?”

“Well, technically Louis wants to shag you. I don’t know, mate, I don’t know the semantics of how two blokes—“

“I can explain it for you, if ya like,” Harry offered with a wide grin.

Niall shook his head. “Please, no. M’good, thanks.”

Harry laughed. “Thanks, Ni, but m’good. I don’t want, or need, to shag Louis. Besides, he’s not my type,” he told him with a wave of his hand, turning back towards his MacBook.

“Why not? He’s an attractive bloke,” he said with a shrug. “Y’know, from a completely objective standpoint.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m into him,” he said. His mobile vibrate next to him and he picked it up, opening up the text message that Zayn had sent him. 

_Free tonight if you wanna work on your project._

Harry smiled and messaged him back. **Sounds good. Half seven work for you? (: .xx**

Niall nodded slowly and watched Harry for a moment. “So,” he started. “Is your type artsy boys who smoke and have really deep voices and loads of tattoos?”

Harry didn’t respond for a moment, choosing to read Zayn’s message instead. _Sure. I live two blocks behind the art studio, behind the student commons. Message me when you get here. x_ “What? No? What did you ask?”

“You don’t wanna shag Louis because you wanna shag Zayn, yeah? Does Liam know that you want his best mate?” Niall asked with a laugh.

Harry frowned as Niall laughed in front of him until his cheeks went pink. He leaned back against the couch and crossed his arms over his chest, doing his best to look petulant. “S’not funny.”

“It’s hilarious!”

“I don’t wanna shag him!” Harry protested.

Niall rolled his eyes. “You were going to stalk him if I hadn’t introduced you to Liam.”

“Thinking someone is attractive doesn’t mean you want to shag them. You just said Louis was attractive. Do you want to shag Louis?” Harry asked.

“Of course not—“

“Exactly.”

“But you _do_ want to shag Zayn,” Niall pointed out. “So it’s a little different.”

Harry sighed and closed his laptop, picking it up and carrying it with him to his room. Niall trailed behind him like a lost puppy, but Harry ignored him. He slid his laptop into his satchel and grabbed his camera bag, packing his lenses carefully, before fitting his camera bag within the satchel. 

“There’s no reason to be ashamed. Zayn’s an attractive bloke, too.”

“I know,” Harry muttered, peeling off his faded old Harley Davidson shirt and tugging on a fresh white shirt. He pushed his curls away from his forehead and slid the strap of his satchel over his shoulder. “M’gonna head out.”

“So you won’t go out for drinks with me—“

“I’m working on my project with Zayn,” Harry told him. “M’sorry I can’t go out for drinks, Niall, but this project is the majority of my grade. Once I finish it, we’ll go out and get severely smashed, yeah?”

“M’gonna hold you to that, mate,” Niall said with a grin. “Have fun flirting with Zayn.”

Harry blanched. “Do you think it’s obvious?”

“Does it matter? If it bothered him, I doubt he’d let you photograph him,” Niall said with a shrug.

Harry wished he had Niall’s carefree attitude, only worrying about something if he couldn’t avoid it, and just generally not giving a shit. But he didn’t, so he was nervous at the mere thought that he was being completely obvious. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“Course I am,” he told him with a smug grin.

Harry laughed and shook his head. “I’ll see ya later, mate.”

 

+

 

The thing was, Zayn’s flat was _nice._ It wasn’t university housing, but it was close enough that most people wanted to rent there, but it was also really _nice._ They were the flats commonly reserved for those of status and, well, Zayn must’ve had money or his family did or— Shit, did it even _matter_? He pulled his mobile from his pocket and sent Zayn a quick message, **I’m here. xx**

_Be right down._

Harry shoved is mobile back into his pocket and rocked back on his heels. There were a few students walking around, but not many, and glanced back towards the door to see Zayn walking down the steps, opening the door with a small grin. 

“C’mon in, mate,” he said, holding the door open while Harry walked past him.

Harry smiled, hoisting the strap of his bag further up his shoulder from where it had been slipping, and whoa—okay, Zayn smelled _nice._ What the hell. He cleared his throat and followed Zayn up the stairs—all seven flights of them—and he nearly collapsed when they stopped outside of room 714. “How do you do that every day?” Harry asked, out of breath.

Zayn smiled and unlocked the door to his flat, opening it and following Harry inside. “I usually take the lift. Just wanted to see if you could do it,” he teased.

Harry frowned. “You’re mean.”

“Don’t worry, mate, I’m dying, too,” he said with a laugh before coughing. “I need water. I can’t do that ever again.”

Harry laughed as he watched Zayn rifle through the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water and taking a long drink. “Maybe you should stop smoking.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “I’ll stop when I’m dead. You thirsty?”

Harry shook his head. “No thanks.”

“Alright,” Zayn said with a shrug. “I need a cigarette.”

Harry laughed loudly as he watched Zayn reach for his pack of cigarettes.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Harry told him with a small smile.

Zayn tucked the cigarette behind his ear, flicking the lighter in his hand. “How do you wanna do this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ya haven’t thought about it?”

The question caught Harry off guard, and he hesitated, chewing on his lower lip. “I—Yeah, I mean, a little,” he said with a shrug.

Zayn’s grin widened and he bypassed Harry, walking over towards the windows against the back wall of his flat. He slid the black curtains back, causing the setting sun to shine through the glass. “Do you want me on the couch like Rose?” he asked.

Harry choked back a laugh. “S’not a nude shoot,” he said quietly.

“Didn’t say it was,” he told him, looking over his shoulder and sending him a wide grin. “Unless you want it to be?”

“S’fine,” Harry said, shaking his head. “It’s—It’s fine.”

“Relax,” Zayn told him, walking back over towards Harry to rub his shoulder. “Just a few photographs, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, nodding. He set his bag down on the oversized chair and pulled out his camera, attaching a different lens and lifting it to snap a quick candid of Zayn to test the lighting. “How many tattoos do you have?”

Zayn shrugged. “Lost count after, like, thirty? M’not too sure, actually.”

Harry smiled. “I’m the same way. Hard to keep track sometimes, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn nodded. “Got this half-sleeve, some on my side, some on my shoulder.”

“Can I see?”

Zayn tugged at the bottom of his shirt, lifting it over his head and tossing it onto the chair by Harry’s bag.

Harry gulped, his eyes wide, and he shook his head. “Okay, um—got quite a bit,” he said with a nervous laugh. He tore his gaze away from Zayn and started to move the furniture, shifting the coffee table out of the way and dragging the couch away from the wall and pointing towards it. “Ya can lay down, head on this side,” he told him.

“Alright,” Zayn said, lying down and stretching out, lifting his right arm above his head. “This good?”

“Actually, yeah,” Harry said, picking up his camera and kneeling next to the couch. He sat by Zayn’s knee, raising the camera and angling it upwards, snapping a quick photograph of the tattoo on his side, the text underneath. “When did ya get that one?”

“Got it with one of my mates when I was in the States,” he told him, reaching for the cigarette behind his ear and placing it between his lips. He lifted his hips off the couch long enough to reach his lighter, lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag. 

Harry snapped another photograph then, catching the smoke as it left Zayn’s lips, and he licked his lips instinctively. “S’nice.”

“Thanks.”

Harry took a few more photographs, various angles and positions, before he asked Zayn to move to the floor. He situated him adjacent to the window, the sunlight falling across his body, and Harry kneeled next to him again. “Almost done.”

“S’fine,” Zayn shrugged, letting his eyes drift shut as he heard the click of the camera again. A couple more shots were taken before it went silent, and he cracked open one of his eyes to see Harry fiddling with the lens. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah, just…” he frowned. “I want another shot, just like—you know, an aerial? But like—“

Zayn laughed. “Just move me however you need to, Haz. I’m in your hands,” he told him, eyes slipping shut again.

Harry cleared his throat and nodded. “Alright, just…” he set the camera aside and reached for Zayn’s arm, positioning it above his head. He gripped Zayn’s jaw lightly, angling it upwards. “Can you open your eyes just a little?” 

Zayn nodded and did so, following Harry’s instructions. 

“Part your lips just a little, yeah?” 

Zayn followed suit again, licking his lips slightly, before evening out his breathing.

Harry reached for his camera, leaning over Zayn’s chest, though he had no idea how he was actually maintaining any balance. He snapped a couple of photographs in quick succession, capturing the ink lining Zayn’s shoulder, and he smiled. “Perfect. Thanks.”

“Of course,” Zayn said.

Harry sat back on his heels and scrolled through the photographs, a wide smile on his face. “These are amazing, Zayn,” he muttered.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, look,” he said, waiting for Zayn to sit up next to him. He held the camera in front of him and scrolled through the photographs.

“They’re alright.”

“You’re takin’ the piss, yeah?” Harry asked, looking over at him and—whoa, okay, Zayn was close. That was—that was alright. Harry cleared his throat, eyes dropping briefly to Zayn’s lips, before he forced his eyes back towards the camera. “You’re… I mean, shit. These look great.”

“You’re a good photographer.”

Harry shrugged. “Anyone can take a picture, Zayn. But you—you bring it to life, you know? If my professor doesn’t like my portfolio, she’s insane. You’re gorgeous.”

“Not too bad y’self,” Zayn told him, resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder. He slid an arm around his back, fingertips pressing underneath the hem of his shirt on the small of his back. 

“Just… Thanks? I mean, you’re the only reason m’gonna do so well on this project, so…” he trailed off.

Zayn smiled. “You’d do great even if the photos weren’t of me, m’sure of it.”

Harry felt himself flush again and he turned to face Zayn, but was cut off when he felt lips press against his own. He stilled instantly, Zayn’s fingertips a soft pressure against his back, and it took less than five seconds for him to start to kiss Zayn back. Blindly, he set his camera aside, praying that it wouldn’t get knocked over, and he turned his body more towards Zayn.

Zayn grinned against Harry’s lips before pulling away. He laughed softly when Harry leaned forward instinctively, and he gripped Harry’s hip with his other hand. “Let’s make a deal, yeah?”

“Mhmm, yeah, sure,” Harry said with a nod.

Zayn leaned forward and kissed him again, a quick brush of their lips, and he pulled back. He let his hand fall from Harry’s hip, knuckles brushing against the front of his jeans; he heard Harry’s sharp intake of breath, and his grin widened. He rested his knuckles there, rubbing against him slowly, and he bit his lip.

“Zayn—What’s—What’s the deal?”

Zayn’s eyes fell on Harry’s lips, red and swollen, his bottom lip sucked into his mouth. He slid his thumb along the outline of Harry’s cock beneath the denim of his jeans, fingers cupping his length. “If you get high marks on this portfolio, I’ll suck you off, yeah?”

Harry let out a soft sigh and he forced his eyes open, meeting Zayn’s. “And if I don’t?”

“You don’t think you’ll get high marks?”

“Gotta be prepared, yeah?”

Zayn laughed and he pressed his fingers more firmly against Harry. “Gotta think about that one.”

“Because I don’t think sucking you off would be any sort of punishment, s’why m’askin’,” Harry said softly, his voice rough and low.

“You don’t say,” he muttered thoughtfully.

Harry nodded. “Suck you off right now. Can I?” he asked.

Zayn smiled as he watched Harry for a moment, realizing he was genuine. His pupils were blown wide with lust. “Eager, aren’t ya?”

“Yeah, for you,” he said with a nod. Harry pushed him away slowly, climbing between his legs and reaching for his belt. “Can I?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Zayn told him.

Harry bit back a grin as he reached for the button on Zayn’s jeans, popping it open. He looked up and met Zayn’s eyes as he tugged the jeans over his hips. He leaned up and pressed their lips together again, his hand sliding beneath the hem of Zayn’s pants as he gripped him, stroking him until he was fully hard. Harry’s tongue traced the outline of Zayn’s lips before he pulled away with a grin, leaning down to press his lips against the soft skin underneath Zayn’s navel. 

Harry tugged Zayn’s pants over his hips, until they bunched around his thighs, and he wrapped his fingers firmly around the base of his cock. He pressed his nose against the base, breathing in deeply, before letting his lips trail along his length. Zayn’s breathing stuttered and his hips arched, just barely, and Harry gave in, wrapping his lips around the head of Zayn’s cock. His tongue pressed against the slit and a quiet moan escaped Zayn’s lips; his hands found Harry’s curls, fingers twisting and pulling.

“Fuck, Harry,” Zayn groaned as Harry’s tongue traced the thick vein on the underside of his cock before sliding over his slit, gathering the precome there with a moan that was nothing short of obscene. Zayn sucked is lower lip into his mouth as he tried to even out his breathing, his hips arching off the floor again. 

Harry pulled away slowly, sitting back on his heels and quickly unzipping his jeans and shoving them down his hips. He wrapped a hand around his own length, a soft sigh leaving his lips, before he met Zayn’s eyes again. Harry leaned back down, taking him back into his mouth, swallowing around him instantly.

Zayn cursed loudly, fingers finding Harry’s curls again, his hips arching off the floor. Harry choked around him, his eyes watering, and Zayn went to pull back but Harry shook his head. Zayn gasped as Harry’s jaw went slack and he allowed his hips to jerk forward, fucking Harry’s mouth slowly, and then speeding up. Harry swallowed around him again, his hand fisting furiously at his cock, while Zayn fucked up into him. He barely let a warning pass his lips, broken and quiet, and he came.

Harry held Zayn’s hip down with one hand, swallowing before pulling off slowy. He rested his head against Zayn’s thigh as he got himself off, spilling over his fist with a grunt. He sucked in a deep breath, wiping his hand off on the leg of Zayn’s jeans, and he looked up at him from under his lashes, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Y’alright?”

Zayn laughed, his head falling back against the carpet, and he nodded. “Yeah.”

 

+

 

Two weeks later, Harry was waiting patiently to get his portfolio back. It had been three days, three long days as he waited for the results of his assignment. Three full days filled with endlessly pacing around his flat, or around Zayn’s flat, or just…around anywhere, really. Three full days of Zayn’s relentless teasing and, well, Harry just really wanted his blowjob. 

(Really—he didn’t even care about getting his portfolio back. Well, he _did,_ because he worked really hard on it. But—the blowjob. That’s what he wanted more. Because the past two weeks had been filled with him going down on Zayn, which was great, really, because he had a great cock, but. Zayn pretty much refused to touch Harry until he found out his grade. Which was mean, really, it was just _mean._ But, hey, now time was up, and Harry needed to _know._ )

His professor handed him back his portfolio with a smile and he opened it instantly, his rubric falling out and he scanned over his grade. He tucked the paper back into the front pocket and picked up his satchel, ditching class even though it wasn’t completely over yet, and he made his way towards the art studio where Zayn was bound to be hiding.

And he was. Harry walked in, tossing his satchel aside, and Zayn looked up from his canvas, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Harry grinned and walked over to him, kneeling in front of him and pressing their lips together. Zayn instantly wrapped an arm around his neck, licking into his mouth without a second thought, pulling away only when he heard Harry moan against his lips.

“That was lovely.”

Harry laughed, leaning forward and pecking Zayn’s lips. “Yeah, well, you owe me.”

“Do I?” Zayn murmured. 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, his curls bouncing, and he stood up, walking over to his bag. He pulled out his portfolio, reaching for his grade slip, and he kneeled back in front of Zayn, waving it in front of his face. “See?” 

Zayn reached for the paper, ripping it out of Harry’s hands. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he studied the paper in front of him, humming thoughtfully. “Mhmm. Mhmm,” he nodded. “Alright. This is adequate.”

Harry laughed, slapping Zayn’s shoulder. “S’more than adequate. I got a perfect mark!”

“Debatable,” Zayn told him with a grin.

Harry slapped his shoulder again. “C’mon, want my blowjob,” he replied, crawling onto Zayn’s lap and grinding their cocks together. 

“Fuck, Haz, someone could _see,_ ” he protested.

“Don’t care,” Harry groaned, attaching his lips to the side of Zayn’s neck. “C’mon, been teasin’ me for weeks.”

Zayn grinned at that, wrapping his arms around Harry’s back and tucking his fingers into the waistband of his jeans. “Wanna head back to mine?”

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Want you to blow me here.”

“Haz, it’s the middle of the day—“

“Don’t care,” Harry repeated, pulling away and tugging his black button up out of his jeans. He undid his belt, tossing it aside, and reached for the button on his jeans.

Zayn reached out for his hands. “Anyone could see, Haz. Let me take you back to mine—“

“Nope,” he said again, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down his hips along with his pants.

Zayn’s eyes widened and he cursed. “Fuck.”

Harry nodded. “No one’s gon’ come up here, Zayn. We practically have the floor to ourselves, yeah?”

“Harry…” he trailed off and shook his head. “Fuck it,” he grumbled, grabbing Harry’s hips tighter and fipping him over, his back landing on the newspaper crumbled up beneath his canvas, crunching underneath his weight. 

Harry laughed loudly, pushing his shirt further up his chest. “C’mon.”

“Damn, you’re needy,” Zayn teased, tugging Harry’s jeans and pants further down his thighs and past his knees, bunching up around his calves around the top of his boots. He hooked an arm underneath Harry’s thigh, pressing a kiss to the dip of his waist.

“Zayn,” Harry whined, reaching for his hair, tangling his fingers in the soft, dark locks. 

Zayn ran his tongue along Harry’s cock, from base to tip, before wrapping his lips around the head. Harry cursed beneath him, already panting as Zayn’s fingers worked the base of his cock. Zayn worked his tongue around the head of Harry’s cock mercilessly, fingertips digging into the side of his thigh. Harry’s hips arched and, fuck; it was embarrassing how close he already was. (In his defense, he’d been waiting for over two weeks, and he was eighteen. But—whatever.)

Zayn looked up at him, taking in Harry’s red and parted lips, little gasps and whimpers escaping him as Zayn tongued at his slit, gathering up the precome there and swallowing around him. Harry’s hands tightened in his hair as Zayn moved his fingers back, leaving the base of his cock to brush past his balls and slide across his opening. Harry’s thighs instinctively fell slack as Zayn’s thumb brushed past his rim, his mouth sliding further down over his cock.

“Zayn—Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ ” he whimpered, hips arching, wanting to press further into Zayn’s mouth and also wanting to push back against his fingers, begging for more, for _something._

Zayn dipped his thumb into Harry’s hole, barely stretching him, catching against his rim and just resting there. Harry groaned, pushing his hips down, but Zayn didn’t budge. He applied just a little bit more pressure, just enough, swallowing around Harry again, barely registering the gasp that left Harry’s lips as he came. Zayn swallowed and pulled off of him slowly, licking him clean, and he looked up at Harry, who was sprawled out beneath him, green eyes wide and dilated, cheeks flushed, lips red, and he grinned.

Harry reached up and pushed his curls out of his face, sucking in a deep breath. “Fuck.”

“Worth the wait?” Zayn teased, patting Harry’s bum affectionately before crawling up the length of his body to press their lips together.

Harry nodded, kissing him slowly. He gathered Zayn up in his arms, cuddling up against him. “Want me to blow you now?”

Zayn shrugged. “Think I can wait ‘til we get back to mine, yeah?”

“If you insist,” Harry said slowly. “Don’t think I can move yet anyway.”

Zayn laughed, pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead before he sat up, pulling Harry’s jeans and pants up the long line of his legs. “M’never gonna look at this studio the same way again,” he muttered.

Harry grinned, a small laugh leaving his lips. “Looks like it came full circle, yeah?”

“Hmm?”

“S’where we first met. Only fitting, yeah?”

Zayn laughed and leaned down again, kissing Harry soundly. “Only fitting.”


End file.
